


Bittersweet Apologies

by tigereyes45



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Apologies, Apologizing Sarge, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 17, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22425181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45/pseuds/tigereyes45
Summary: Sarge after thinking about the inevitable, and the past, finally apologizes to Grif.
Relationships: Dexter Grif & Sarge
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Bittersweet Apologies

**Author's Note:**

> A request made on the RvB discord I'm on. Sorry, it starts off a bit rambling. I find myself writing a lot of Sarge's inner-thoughts lately.

He hates Grif. The fact that there were two Grifs didn’t change things in Sarge’s mind. His Grif, the original Grif, was the worst. His constant apathy, how quick he was to give up and move on, even the way he slept. Always on his back, snoring loud enough that the whole base could hear. Private Dexter Grif was the worst. He didn’t get much better as he was promoted, demoted, and promoted again. With every new title, Grif was resigned to it. The only ounce of pride coming from how annoyed Sarge was by it.

The boy didn’t see his own potential. That fact alone annoys Sarge the most. He never owned up to the fact of how much he did care. How everyone’s words got to him. No matter how much Hell he was put through Grif relented. When he didn’t everyone was quick to forget those instances. Chiefly because Grif himself didn’t want to dwell on them. When he insisted they help Caboose. How quick he was to action when the Meta was gaining an upper hand on himself and Simmons.

Grif was always there.

That was partly why it was such a shock when he actually stepped away. Without looking back Grif left. He was there shouting orders like it even mattered. Grif was all too used to ignoring them. To ignoring him. Just like that he lost one of his squad. After all the close calls, the months he went on thinking Donut was dead, the moment he felt like he was finally able to breathe again when they reunited. All the close calls, the names, the orders given to deaf ears come back in a rush of rage and quiet desperation as Grif left.

He was so angry for so long after that. Even though he hated Grif Sarge took a certain amount of pride in having kept all his men alive this far. The fact that he hadn’t lost one in the years they’ve been a unit. They’ve come farther than any team he had ever been on, let alone commanded. Partly due to Grif’s efforts. Though Sarge could hardly acknowledge that to himself. It would be a cold day in Hell before he’d say it. Private Dexter Grif had a natural talent to survive. Put him in any situation where death was almost a guarantee and the fat, orange, bastard would make it out of there alive. Sarge would know.

When he first met his new soldiers. Sarge could spot the weak link. He was overweight, slow, and in orange armor. If anyone was going to die at the hands of their blue enemies then it would be him. It was foolish to believe that back then, but after watching so many good men die he was ready to believe. Ready to distance himself and prepare everyone else for the inevitable. What he did was cruel, but necessary in his eyes.

Instead, he walks away, still breathing, still very much alive. With more of a pep in his step then Sarge had ever seen before.

Sarge was ready to die. If it was going to be anyone it would be him. Jumping onto the Blues and Reds team. Facing his former allies was as sure a way as any to guarantee his death. That’s when Girf came back. Of all people to launch a rescue mission, somehow Sarge wasn’t surprised it was him. Maybe since he was back Simmons would be more willing to see reason. He could have his team back. If they wouldn’t join Temple then he would join them. Those were the only ways this could play out.

He was lucky they accepted him.

Now here they were again. Standing in the waiting room of the hospital as the blues visit Washington. Simmons had gone off to help Donut prepare for his trip. Another one of his soldiers abandoning the team. After everything they had said and done, Sarge couldn’t really blame him. Why Grif had come back could probably be solely placed on Simmons’ shoulders. He had no hand in it after all. Why Simmons stuck around was probably a mix of still clinging to the need of having a superior to look up to, and nostalgia. He never really seemed like the type who could just let something go. Even if it was an old man with suicidal thoughts, who could go any day. Hell if the positions were reversed, Sarge would have killed a leader as awful as himself.

“Hey,”

Grif breaks the silence as he pulls off his helmet. Sarge grunts and waits.

“I’m heading towards the cafeteria. Can I bring you back anything?”

“How considerate of you.”

“Right, forget I asked.”

Sarge watches him go in silence. The bright white hospital lights vibrate angrily at him. They beam brighter, choking his silence as the orange soldier leaves. Who knew the hospital could be just as judgemental as it’s occupants. By the time Grif returned with two cups of pudding in hand, he found himself lounging in one of the stuff chairs. Grif gave him a cup. He looks from Sarge to where his orange helmet was tucked under the man’s arm.

“You left it behind. Didn’t want one of these people to take it and sell it. You’re a famous captain here, ain’t ya?” Grif rolled his eyes and left it there with Sarge. Taking the seat next to him, Grif gets comfortable.

“So what’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re sitting for one. Plus you haven’t insulted me since I got back.”

“You’ve been back for three minutes, boy.”

“Exactly.”

“My head hurts.”

“Eat the pudding then.”

His eyes stare at the stupidly, delicious-looking cup. When was the last time he’s eaten in front of anyone? Usually, he takes his meals and heads off towards his room or garage. Yet here they were in a hospital, and there isn’t anywhere he could run. Bitterly he rips the lid off. Grif was being better then he should’ve expected. After all the ways he blamed and scorned Donut and Doc for their betrayals he was quick to lets Sarge’s go. The old man knows he wouldn’t have been

“I’m sorry Grif.”

The sounds of choking sings in his ears. For a moment he smiles as he pulls his helmet off. Greasy, white hair brushes against the tips of his ear as it’s all pulled up. It was growing a bit shaggy again. He would have to get it buzzed again as soon as he found a decent barber.

“Wha-what?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. I’m apologizing for calling you a cad, a coward, a traitor to all the reds. Haven’t you ever heard an apology before?”

“From you? Nope.”

“Yeah well, this is the only time you'll ever hear it.”

“Uh thank you I guess.”

“Your damn right thank you.” Sarge squishes the pudding into his mouth. As the chocolate slides down his throat, he shakes his head. Pinching his eyes closed, Sarge sighs. “Listen Grif. I meant it. Without you, well this old man probably would be dead on that beach with the rest of the blues and reds.”

“Why’s that?”

“I would’ve killed that reporter. Would’ve left Simmons, and Donut in those cells with the blues till it was all over. I would have gone through with it Grif, and when the freelancers escaped and came after them. Well, I would have faced Agent Washington on the field of battle. Open combat. No chance of survival and I would’ve died. Just like I wanted to for a long time.” Sarge coughs. “But I’m not dead, and neither are any of my men. So thank you. Or something I guess.”

His voice becomes little more than a mutter as he crushes the empty pudding cup. It becomes little more than a broken ball of plastic in his hands.

“No sweat.” Grif leans forward, catching Sarge’s eye. There’s a small smile on his face as he looks back up at Sarge. “You might want to get your hair cut old man.”

“Shut up Grif.”

They finish their pudding in silence. The lights slowly become quieter as they wait. When the blues finally leave, Carolina isn’t with them. It doesn’t come as a surprise to anybody. She had stayed with Wash every single night since they got back. Grey didn’t even try to kick her out. There would be no moving her even if she did.

As they leave, Sarge lags behind. He watches with a melancholic heart as they all stride. Further and further ahead they get as his thoughts grow. How much longer? Truly, how much longer did they have? Before one of them dies again. Until they all split up. Sarge’s fingers tighten into a fist. Fear is the emotion he settles on. He was fearful of returning to civilian life again.

“Hey, Sarge. Were gonna go say goodbye to Donut.” Grif speaks as if he’s bored. Perhaps despite all his brains, he didn’t really realize what Donut leaving meant. It could be that he really just didn’t care. To Sarge though, this all was the beginning of the end.

“I guess we should.”

“Yeah. Who knows when will be the next time we see him.”

“Wash won’t get to say goodbye.”

“Yeah. You should tell him that. Maybe he’ll stay until then.” Grif moves to take his helmet out from under Sarge’s arm. He had forgotten that it was there. With a knowing look he puts it back on. “After all they’ve grown close.”

Sarge smiles back as the man turns around. Grif was still the smartest of his team. Not as technical as Simmons, but with reading people.


End file.
